I wish I knew why Luke was running a fever today. It's the first fever he's ever had. In 13 and a half months. Even through teething and H1N1 and double ear infections and sinus infections...not once has he had any fever.
So I'm perplexed and I wish I knew what was going on. I came across a blog of a woman who lost her son a few weeks ago. He was adopted from the Ukraine; nearly 9 months here in his forever home. He had horrible flu-like symptoms one day and the next was dead.
It turns out it wasn't the flu, but a bike accident he'd had the day before. He'd fallen, damaged his duodenum, and died. It was such a benign fall, apparently, he'd never even told his mother. No big deal.
I just think, "If Luke's never had a fever when I expected him to...what does it mean when he has one out of the blue. For no reason?" I've been very good about not expecting the worst, but I won't lie. I do not like his body fighting something of which I have no knowledge. It takes me back to a very helpless place where control is not even close to an option and ends with many people standing around a small white casket on a cold and icy day.
I know. It's just a fever. Not even a high one...at highest, 100.2. I don't have to take him for urine testing unless it's 101. Motrin immediately brought relief and the poor sweet thing has been sleeping and really, for being sick, one might never know. I know my mind is really getting out of control.
I wish it was as easy as people think it is just to turn it off.
I wish we had pictures from Matthew's funeral. Really, I wish we had video. We have a cd, somewhere, in the 8 million boxes that are either stored here in the garage in NC or storage in Maryland. But I'd love to have video or pictures because so much of it is just so blurry.
Some things, like how everyone looked so pitifully at me, scream at me every time I think of that day.
Others, like who was there and what the table with his things looked like and what the church looked like are cloudy. And get cloudier every day.
I wish, though I know it's such a benign question and truly well-intentioned when asked, people would not ask me, "What do you want?" when we discuss the fact that we do not know if both of these embryos implanted and are viable pregnancies.
What do I want? I don't want to have to grieve another baby. Period. Whether that means one, two, three or 10...I want to be able to carry and birth and raise and love until I die whatever I'm given.
And really, how harsh would I sound if I said, "Um, just one?" Of course, one comes with less risk. More odds of bringing home. Less stress and chaos with another toddler and two crazy dogs and a house that's not really my house and a deployed husband.
But one also means that a little chance at life ended. I know that the debate on where life begins is a never-ending one. But for us, life began the second any of those little embryos' cells divided. Nothing was making them do that. No laboratory procedure was forcing the reproduction from two to 4 to 8 cells...and then beyond. To us, life was in them. And when I transferred both of those embryos several weeks ago, they were both living...dividing...growing. So to say I'd prefer a single pregnancy for all reasons listed above makes me sound selfish, cruel, and really...I feel a bit murderous.
So again, I just wish that I'd not have to answer that, and am glad that people nod (sort of sheepishly as if they forgot what we've been through because it seems so far away now) when I tear up and say, "I just want healthy. I want to bring this baby or babies home." Once they hear me answer, they realize how frivolous a question it is.
I wish that it wasn't like that, though...that the frivolity and ignorant bliss that many women who undergo fertility treatments have when they finally get pregnant and anticipate finding out how many 'took' was still a part of my world and that question wouldn't bother me so much.
Dr. P told me that he knew of a patient who underwent several years' worth (and thousands of dollars as well, as we certainly know!) of fertility treatments and finally got to a point where she had 6 embryos from an IVF cycle. She transferred them all, and he said that was the first set of septuplets he'd ever scanned. People thought she was crazy for transferring all 6 (I think it's medical malpractice, and wasn't done at this office, of course!), but he could understand after all she'd been through and all she'd spent, how she was willing to risk the chance of multiples in order to become a mother.
I replied, "I understand too. But once you've become a mother who has to bury her child, you are a lot more cautious in the risk you are willing to take, and frankly, I'd not really be willing to risk the life of one of my children for another in any scenario."
Again, a knowing nod...one of those, "Oh, yeah...that's right...I guess I forgot to whom I was talking," and he said, "You are absolutely right."